


agnosthesia

by grahamcockroach



Series: roach's drabbles [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bros, can be read as platonic or romantic idc, lowkey projecting my RSD, mildly graphic descriptions of mental illness, wholesome comfort at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcockroach/pseuds/grahamcockroach
Summary: Roger isn't doing well, John notices.
Relationships: John Deacon & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Series: roach's drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088939
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	agnosthesia

**Author's Note:**

> agnostheia
> 
> n. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in your voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on your shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.

His body felt heavy.

Not for a physical reason, in fact he was losing weight from forgetting to eat. Not that he was checking, he just noticed his hip bone being a little more prominent than it used to be when he got out of the shower the other day.

He didn’t know what triggered it, but he didn’t know how to stop it either. These times just came upon him with very little warning, making it feel like his once colourful and fast life had come to an empty, grey, sudden halt.

Roger supposed it was feeling ignored by his bandmates that triggered the sudden depression. He was more sensitive to rejection than what seemed to be normal, sometimes he would hear a mildly negative comment about himself or something related to him and sob about it in bed later.

Freddie, Brain and John had reason not to pay as much attention to him, they were busy with their lives too, all had places to be and personal dealings to attend to. 

_God, you can’t let anyone be independent in their lives? You have to be the center of everything all the time, or you think everyone wants you dead? I’m such an attention whore I can’t fucking function properly._

____

____

He was sleeping until noon for the first time since teenage weekends. This episode was worse than any he could remember. At least they were on a break after touring, so he wouldn’t have to show his shameful, miserable face to his bandmates or anyone else.

Touring-maybe it was the post-tour depression hitting a little harder this time around? That mixed with slowly approaching 30, and his quickly growing fear of not being the most beautiful and desired person in the room anymore? He knew that was stupid, people didn’t become hags at 30; but he knew all of his thoughts were stupid, but that didn’t stop him from thinking and believing them.

He looked at items in his house he didn’t remember moving. There were two chairs in the middle of the kitchen when he came home after a walk one day. He was like a ghost in his own house, nobody but himself to haunt.

He didn’t feel like a person, he felt like a shell who was doing the bare minimum to stay alive. 

He didn’t even know why he felt that way. There was always the feeling, a small background noise of his life, the thoughts he had, but he could push them aside and distract himself most of the time. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. 

Eventually he started missing calls. He would hear the phone ringing, but either didn’t have the energy to get up and pick it up or felt like he was going to be scolded. He so desperately wanted to talk to someone, but he was too tired and too ashamed of being himself to pick up the phone.

He wondered if he was forgotten about. They didn’t need him anymore, drummers were easily replaced, and finding someone who could sing just like, or better than him wouldn’t be hard, especially with the fame they had now. They ought to be sick of his shit after nearly a decade of dealing with him. Roger wouldn’t want to have to spend that long with Roger.

He didn’t know what time it was, what day it was, sometimes he forgot what month it was. Time didn’t matter when his brain was rotting and his skull was full of flies.

Was his mother proud of him? Did people who went to school with him see him on television and feel special knowing they had met him before he made it? Had he even made it, or was that another delusion?

He wished he could leave his own brain behind. Throw it out the window and into a ditch for racoons to eat.

Sometimes he would see photos of himself and wonder if he was even the same person. He didn’t feel like the same person, the memories of before seemed so far away and detached. He would look in the mirror and see the miserable, bloodshot-eyes, dirty thing. 

He would sit and wallow, his legs felt too weak and jelly-like to get back up.

He hadn’t felt so touch-deprived in years.

He wondered if anyone would notice how he had barely left his house the past few weeks. He got back home in the winter, the snow was all melted now. At that point he felt too disgusted with himself to touch his bed, so he was sleeping on couches, a few times he woke up sitting at the table. 

Roger felt too heavy to do anything.

***

That day calls were coming in more than usual, almost back-to-back. He slept through most of them, but once he woke up he couldn’t fall back asleep with the incessant ringing.

He pulled himself up and went to the table and chair where he kept a phone.

“Hi,” he greeted the caller unenthusiastically, maybe they’d get the hint and fuck off. 

“Rog? What have you been doing the past few weeks? I was beginning to think you were dead. What’s wrong with you?” John said on the other side, rightfully annoyed.

Might as well be dead.

“I’m fine, I’m just tired. Maybe a little sick. Probably caught something at the airport.”

“That was three weeks ago, I doubt it would last that long. Unless you need a doctor. Have you been in contact with anyone? I’ve asked everyone by now and they said you haven’t answered them at all. Rog, are you alright?”

Roger sighed. He shouldn’t have answered.

“Yeah. I’m fine. What do you need?”

“You’re not fucking fine! You sound half dead! Have you just been rotting since you got back home?”

“No, no I’m just busy.”

“Busy, so busy you can’t answer a single fucking call to let people know you aren’t dead? C’mon, Rog, if there’s something really wrong I can come over, I haven’t got anything I need to do today.”

“Thanks for the thought, but I don’t want you wasting your time on me. You’ve got better ways to use it.”

John huffed. “Rog, you’re my fucking friend, I don’t want you to be miserable, ok? I can make you lunch, if you want,” he offered, knowing the fastest way to Roger’s heart was with food.

Roger took a moment to answer. “Sure. If you want you can come. I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“Ok, be there in about an hour,” John hung up before Roger could change his mind.

Roger jumped out of his chair and ran to the bathroom to shower, the most energy he had exerted in what felt like an eternity. The warm water of the shower felt like heaven.

He dried his hair with a towel, it should, it better dry before he gets here. He dressed himself in jeans, trying to make it look like he didn’t spend his days rotting. 

Then, he waited. What would they even do? He hadn’t interacted with anyone other than the cashier at the store last week in so long. He was probably still gross, no matter how hard he scrubbed he could never get rid of himself.

With a few knocks and the creak, John was here. It looked like he had gotten a haircut, it was cleaner than it was the last time Roger saw him. 

From the look on John’s face, Roger could tell he knew something was wrong. He looked more than concerned.

“Hey Rog,” he smiled, “I brought, uh, some stuff. For lunch, I went to the store near, and wasn't sure if you had what I wanted.” He held up a grocery bag. 

Roger smiled back at him, getting up to show him to the kitchen. John immediately laid out the plastic packages Roger had no idea how to assemble. He took his place leaning on the counter. 

John turned to him and looked right into his eyes. “Rog, are you ok?”

The simple question combined with the intimate act of looking into his eyes was overwhelming. 

The pressure behind his eyes, in his throat and in his chest built and broke too fast to stop it. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked at the floor. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just sick,” he answered, his voice cracking on every syllable. 

He sunk down to the floor, his hands pressed against his face and his throat burning. He hadn’t cried in what was probably over a year, and now he was about to sob on his kitchen floor in front of his best friend.

Next thing he knew John was sitting beside him leaning against the cabinet.

Roger barely noticed it through his heaving, but John’s hand was resting on his back. It felt nice to feel someone else’s body heat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” John asked almost clinically, neither of them were well equipped at dealing with extreme feelings like this.

Roger lifted his head and tried to steady his breathing. “It’s fine, I’m just- I don’t know,” his head fell back into his hands, hands beginning to get soaked by the amount of tears he was crying. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me.”

John lightly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into his chest, Roger didn’t resist one bit.

Roger’s shoulder’s were almost violently shaking, he shoved his face further into John’s shoulder.

“I’m- I’m sor- sorry for dirtying your shirt” he hiccupped, “I don’t know where th-this came from.”

“It’s fine,” John said, gently brushing Roger’s hair behind his ears with the hand he wasn’t holding him with. “Might not wanna do this on the kitchen floor though.” Roger nodded in agreement.

Eventually, the pair stood up and went to the other room, where the couch was. 

As soon as the younger man sat down, Roger was back, clinging onto him like a koala. They leaned back, Roger laying directly on top of John, hugging him tightly.

John carrassed his back in the same fashion a mother would comfort her child. 

It felt nice to be warm and loved. 

He knew this wasn't going to solve all of his problems, or make him instantly happy again, but he was grateful to be held.

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHAHA LOL HOWD U LIKE MY PROJECTION 
> 
> that probably sucked but i wrote it in like an hour n a half, have not read it or edited it at all. hope someone can enjoy this. i dont want it living in my google docs 
> 
> anyway stream this song its so good PLUS you can see my comment on it im comradelucy69!!! exclusive lucy content given only to the people who click on this link and listen to this super fucking good song!!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLkJxhfD2rA


End file.
